


Stranger

by silver_blacker



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_blacker/pseuds/silver_blacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of conversation shared between Petyr and Sansa. No real plots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger

Her finger draws lazy circles on his scalp, intertwining with his dark hair. His queen grants him a smile, a smile he knows is no longer real and genuine. She chooses to conceal herself, even from him, even after everything they have been through. He would be pretending if he says he is not hurt, but he will not let it show.

Petyr moves up the bed and places a brief kiss on her collarbone. He shall be playing his role then, whoever that she wishes him to be.

"Thank you." Sansa mews softly, her hands again raising to his hair, lightly pulling at it.

"What for?" He testingly wraps his arms around her and she pushes herself into his embrace, her head now leaning against his chest. He grins when she allows him the intimacy. There are nights when she would abandon him in haste after she has found her release, leaving him on his bed breathless and unsatisfied. But tonight is not one of those nights, it seems.

"For doing this." She presses her cheek on his chest, her breath warm on his skin. She slowly trails her finger down his long and ugly scar, like a thosand times she has done before.

"Doing what?" He closes his eyes and inhales the smell of her red hair, the combination of faded perfume and winter rose.

"Being with me." She answers, her voice soft and gentle, like the innocent maiden she once was. 

Petyr leans backward and looks down at her. His queen is rather unusual today, saying all the things she has said without sounding demanding or controlling. They seldom exchange words, well he does talk but she rarely answers. There might be moans and groans during the act but other than that his queen is often silent. Five knocks of distinct pattern on his door and he would know she is seeking for his company. If he is available he would invite her in. Then the queen will throw him on his own bed and it would begin. Every single time the procedure repeats itself with little or no variation. But Petyr would not complain for her sudden talkativeness. He craves for it even.

"It is my duty and honor, your grace." He smiles reassuringly at her. He lightly strokes her flawless cheek with the back of his hand.

She does not flinch, not like usual. She catches his hand and lays a wet kiss on his knuckle. "Petyr," she mutters, her gaze flicks towards him with a hint of long forgotten tenderness in her eyes. "We could run away, you know."

"What?" The word leaves his mouth without his permission. He immediately hopes his rudeness would not enrage the queen.

"Aegon never notices me anyway." Sansa continues, seemingly unaware of his boldness. She nuzzles at the curve of his shoulder, burying her face inside it. "He only cares for his dragons. I bet he would not even know if his wife disappears with his Hand." She adds, her tone now sounding scornful and resentful. 

"Oh Sansa," Petyr embraces her tighter, feeling the softness of her body pressing against his lean frame. "You know how I would love to..."

Sansa squirms away from his touch. She pops herself up with her elbow and sits up, staring down at him. The ice queen is back again.

"You would love that, wouldn't you?" She teases, with an air of authority around her even with her naked state. Petyr tries all his might to forbid his gaze from roaming on her exposed breasts. He slams his eyes shut and bites on his lower lips to stifle a cry when she suddenly clasps his manhood.

"Look at me." She demands.

Afraid of the consequences of defiance, Petyr obeys.

"Remember who you are, Baelish." She says in disgust, tightening his grip on him by each word that she splits out. "For surely I would not, nor would anyone in westeros. You do not deserve me." 

His manhood is painful to the point of breaking. Petyr arches his back forward and begs, "Please..." 

With that Sansa lets go and leaves his bed. He watches, panting, as she puts back on her gown, his seed still dripping down her thighs from their previous act. She exits his chamber without a further glance at him.

Petyr blows out the candle and consumes himself in darkness. He lies back under the blanket treasuring the remaining warmth the body of his queen has left, and anticipates the next time he hears five knocks on his door.


End file.
